


To keep

by fish_wifey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical Tattoos, Nekoma boys all have powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: Fukunaga hides and it affects Yamamoto. His tattoo reflects this, which in turn irritates Kozume. Kuroo ends up having to help out, while Haiba has no idea what's going on. ((multiple pov that change throughout the fic (marked as such) as well as Fukunaga and Yamamoto seen and interpreted by some of the Nekoma teammates))





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh I love magical realism, and I love torafuku. It took me a long time to be able to write either, while having so many ideas lying around. It's my first time publishing what I have about this couple, too. I always end up having so many headcanons and cute ideas (mostly established and hidden xD) but never really went into full-writing mode to create a story for them O:
> 
> Apart from testing things out with format (gosh I love formats in fic and writing ok ;;) I seriously went all out with the magic and I love love love describing it and how it affects emotions and the power within. Also I think... I kinda ended up writing Tetsurou as an aromantic o:?? I'm not sure tho so I didn't wanna put a label on it. I didn't tag everything that happens (also because I often don't feel that specific scenes are 'large' enough to be tagged as such).
> 
> In any case, I hope this enjoyable to read and easy to follow. I tend to write certain things vague and abstract when I explore the depths, but I had a lot of fun doing so!! Please let me know what you thought of it, if you like ;v;

The spiky endings curving around the ribs twitched. It made Kenma’s neck prickly, watching the inked tiger stripes moving across Yamamoto’s skin. He wasn’t the kind of guy to wear his emotions on his sleeves at all times, but his tattoo would betray him in a heartbeat. While Yamamoto looks around, searching, Kenma can’t concentrate on his game.

The ink twitches again, a nervous tick which gets on Kenma’s nerves.

“What’s wrong?” He asks at last, not usually the nosy or investigative type. Yamamoto doesn’t react, eyes scanning the horizon. His nerves tend to widen towards his hands mostly, when his body cannot control the emotions past the ink under his skin. Yamamoto’s fingers curl, uncurl, fidgeting as if trying to get rid of bugs. His light eyes are ever wandering.

“Tora, hey.” Kenma tries again, already past his limit of being pushy. This is more Kuroo’s perch.

“Eh, nothing’s wrong.” Yamamoto’s untruthful answer is so obvious that Kenma’s squints at the air between them. When Yamamoto lies, he looks people straight down their soul, trying to cover up his secrets. It’s when he looks away and can’t meet people face to face he’s the most honest with himself and to his surroundings.

The stripes of his ink curl in disgust.

Sighing, Kenma looks down his phone. He sent Shouyou a message a while ago, and wanted to wait for an answer before resuming playing a game and giving it his entire focus.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s uncomfortable. But you’re annoying me. Your tattoo is restless.”

Kenma isn’t looking, but he feels the air shift. Probably Yamamoto looking down on his stomach. He’d long since lost his like always when they took a break. He’s told the team so many times his tattoo didn’like being covered and would itch if left unexposed for too long.

Yamamoto has fire in his lungs when he answers. The air around Kenma heats up when he speaks.

“I haven’t seen Fukunaga. You think he’s hiding?”

“He could have his reasons.” To Kenma’s knowledge, however, Fukunaga wouldn’t hide in a way Yamamoto wouldn’t be able to find him. If he’s truly gone from their sight, it might be bad. Kenma sends a text to Kuroo, who’s on the roof of the school. He plays safekeeper for Kai, who’s teaching a couple of first years how to meditate and focus on their strengths.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Yamamoto says without sounding convinced. Kenma feels the grass around him dry out and singe.

*

 

*

 

*

It’s late at night and Yamamoto has looked all over school. Tetsurou saw him run around after Kenma’s text. Club activities were called off for several reasons, thankfully none of Tetsurou’s fault.

First one of Kai’s disciples hadn’t known that deep focus would bring his power to make stone overflow it’s minerals into dark matter. The roof under them went away like nothing, and it was solely to Kai’s godlike ability to contain, change, and direct all sorts of materials in a way he liked. He saved the rest of the first years, some scared out of their wits, and Tetsurou, who was mildly surprised, safe up in the air while building the ground back beneath them. The first year who caused the mayhem had been holed up in a glass ball of Kai’s making, and the dark matter changed into flowers due to Kai’s help.

On return to the club house, Tetsurou found Inuoka staring off in the distance. His eyes changed colours to the things he saw; granite grey for buildings, green for the grass, black for the things Tetsurou he preferred not to know. Upon asking Shibayama, he found out the main reason they wouldn’t play volleyball today.

Fukunaga had gone missing, and Yamamoto was going all over the place to find him.

The Inuoka clan were born with doglike abilities, most of them changed throughout the generations to be different of the power it generated from. Inuoka could ‘scent’ things of great distance. While his nose would sniff out the scent, his eyes would reveal the things his nose ‘saw’. Shibayama would note down the colours and textures Inuoka’s eyes would mirror.

Alas, this was to no avail. Tetsurou knew of Fukunaga’s ability, and it might overpower Inuoka’s by far.

He found Kenma sitting on the roof of the clubhouse, feet dangling over the edge and typing away on his phone.

“This can go on all night.” Kenma says, his eyes glancing up to locate a shirtless Yamamoto calling out Fukunaga’s name across the lawn. Hands on his hips, Tetsurou gives off a dramatic sigh, then jumps off the building to land on all fours and scan the ground with his hands and through the soles of his feet. Inuoka’s scenting might be no help against Fukunaga’s ability, but nothing could hide away from Tetsurou.

He found Fukunaga in a matter of seconds.

*

 

*

 

*

The winds goes through the leaves and the shrubbery. The greenery behind the school wasn’t made by mere humans. Most of it was as old as time itself, the first magic this world created all on its own. Tetsurou’s eyes glance over the lilac barks and black coloured leaves, enhancements by empowered individuals honouring this olden magic. He watches the wind blow over grass, whistling past wildlife and flowers.

It leaves out an obvious patch, a human-sized rock sitting pretty and invisible. Grinning, Tetsurou walks over to the space. He felt it through the earth, too. As much as Fukunaga’s power mutes his surroundings and makes an invisible tent over him, the _absence_ alerts Tetsurou and makes it easy to find him.

Squatting right in front of it, he waits for Fukunaga to unmute his surroundings and let him enter this silent cave. Tetsurou doesn’t like sticking his nose in other people’s busines, and he has a good concept of how to approach Fukunaga on this particular topic. First, he sits down on his ass next to him, lowering his height to a defenceless and eye to eye basis.

In front of them, Yamamoto whizzes past. His ink has lifted off the sides of his torso, like feelers trying to detect life. Tetsurou’s not sure if Yamamoto’s tattoo can do that, actually. There’s many things tattoos can do and it depends all on the wearer, too. Yamamoto is stressed out to the maximum, and his ink doesn’t react well at all. 

When he’s out of sight, Tetsurou decides to speak first, as he’s the only one present who can actually talk.

“Did anything I need to know about happen between you and Yamamoto?” Tetsurou looks at Fukunaga to see a nod or a shake. He’s given no reaction at all. Fukunaga, arms around his knees, looks down as to not to meet anyone’s eyes. Tetsurou knows he can hear them. If he had hearing problems, they would notice on the court. Checking for any sort of reaction, Tetsurou looks over the face. 

But it’s when Tetsurou looks at the mouth that never speaks that he is surprised by the tiniest voice in his head.

_’It’s my fault. Not his.’_

Tetsurou blinks, but doesn’t look around. There’s no one else here besides them. He doesn’t show what this revelation does to him, while his body shifts out and into focus. No one has ever heard Fukunaga, who was born mute, speak before. This little voice inside his head belongs to him, however. It sounds exactly like Fukunaga would sound: 

There’s kindness in it’s frequency, the undertone containing a rasp of disuse, and the careful prod for being heard by Tetsurou for the first time. His voice made Tetsurou think that if Fukunaga laughed out loud, the sun would start shining and the flowers would bloom, and that a spring shower would rain down on them, even during club activities inside the gym. What shakes Tetsurou is how, despite all this, Fukunaga’s voice contains elements it shouldn’t, while he couldn’t be a judge of it in the slightest.

Fragile and hurt.

Tetsurou doesn’t have the time to put on nice-senpai gloves. He never had them to begin with, never thought he needed to craft them for any of the members. There was a storm brewing.

“Whenever you’re gone, you’ve always let Yamamoto find you.” He puts the nail on its head, and Fukunaga’s head ducks for cover. He quivers at the sound of Yamamoto’s name rolling over Kuroo’s tongue, and there’s a lash of jealousy and anger hitting Kuroo’s chest. Fukunaga’s nails dig into the side of his hands, a possible defense mechanism to stop his feelings from being so visible and physical. 

“Look, I know you promised Nekomata-sensei you wouldn’t cause trouble if you got upset and vanished from our sights. He told me when I became captain, so I wouldn’t have to worry about you. Let Yama- our hot-head handle things. He’s not handling things. Why?”

He might have said too much. Fukunaga’s processing, without moving a muscle. He has thin eyelashes which flutter slightly every so often. Tetsurou cannot hear Yamamoto yell in this membrane they’re hidden within, but he can feel the worry and stress tremble through the earth. It shakes right under their asses, and gets to Fukunaga, for sure.

“You’re hiding from him.” Tetsurou states, not needing to hear or see he’s right. Looking ahead after his conclusion, he contemplates making Yamamoto stop and just head home for the day. Whatever it is that Fukunaga is dealing with, he doesn’t want Yamamoto to solve it. Causing all this ruckus won’t help anyone, and it only takes Tetsurou’s time away.

“Even if you guys are close, it’s alright. Should I tell him to shut it?” Tetsurou asks, but the end of his sentences becomes less audible, and the last words vanish before he can utter them. He knew that he spoke, that his words left his mouth. It must be Fukunaga’s doing. Cutting Tetsurou off, making his words literally disappear unsaid. He hears the faintest murmur in his head, Fukunaga’s words no less. But he can’t quite make out what he’s trying to tell him.

He wonders if Yamamoto has always spoken to Fukunaga like this. Tetsurou has seen them doing sign language many times. It’s strange, knowing Fukunaga always has a voice. That Yamamoto’s continuous stream of words found a vessel, a listener, a replier. Tetsurou wracks his brain, wondering if he would have taken noticed this had he given them both more attention. Didn’t he once see Yamamoto talk and talk for ages, Fukunaga hardly nodding or shaking his head? How could he not have sensed this..?

The concern in his face must be taken for anger, as Fukunaga’s words finally reach him in perfect audio between his ears.

_’Please don’t be mad at him. I’m trying to figure out how to fix this.’_

“And you don’t want him to help. I’m telling you, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s alright to not tread lightly around him, y’know. It’s fine.”

Some of Tetsurou’s words are eaten by the silence Fukunaga’s emits. Rearranging his statement which is seen untrue. Made into a version more sensible, more rightful for Fukunaga’s tastes. When Tetsurou hears himself, it's not the sentence he wanted to say, but the one Fukunaga needs him to hear.

“You want him. You worry. It’s not fine.”

The ground shakes, but it’s not entirely Tetsurou’s doing. Realizing things would only cause minor tremors under his toes. He wonders what will happen if he finds out somebody has fallen in love with him, if the knowledge of such a thing would break the ground open. If he’d actually create an earthquake powerful enough to split a city in half. He’d rather never find out if that’s the case.

Fukunaga puts his forehead on top of his knees, but it doesn’t muffle his voice inside of Tetsurou’s head.

_‘I had a feeling. For a while, I didn’t realize what it was. When I found out, looking at him taking off his shirt and smiling at me… I didn’t know what else to do.’_

“…You can choose to do nothing. Or do everything.”

_‘He’s my closest friend. The first one I ever made. I don’t want to hurt him or be selfish.’_

Tetsurou can’t relate, and it’s hard to put himself in Fukunaga’s shoes. There was no advice he could personally give that would be any kind of help. Letting his fingers pat around the grass in front of his folded legs, Tetsurou remembers a recent conversation.

“A friend once told me that love is selfish. And selfless. At the same time. Yeah, I don’t get it either.” Tetsurou rubs the back of his head. He might not always say the things he wants to clear out of his head right, but when Bokuto talks about a love, it sounds straight up alien. Like the stuff he says exist in their language but are not of this world, too abstract to be painted, to difficult to be read. They’re too out of Tetsurou’s field to be contemplated.

“If it eats you up alive, you shouldn’t stay here and suffer. Anyway, everyone knows about Yamamoto’s preferences. It’s not like you wouldn’t have a chance, right? Might be worth a shot.”

_‘He’s too kind. Kinder than anyone gives him credit for. It would be a Take thing to sacrifice himself. He might as well agree to a relationship solely for my sake. I’ve always known Take gives the person he likes or is fond of everything he has without being selfish. I can’t ask that much of him.’_

Tetsurou has a hard time dealing with these kind of abstract feelings. Instead, he zooms in on the single word, a nickname of sorts.

How many times have these two sat together and spoken like this? When did Fukunaga call Yamamoto ‘Take’? The closeness of their friendship took a whole lot of turns and Tetsurou had a hard time following this stream of new information. Meanwhile, the sun had sank somewhere behind them, and night-time would soon roll in. Fukunaga could stay here forever if he tried, but he couldn’t as long as Tetsurou’s had a say in this.

His phone vibrates. Three buzzes and a chill up his spine, a specified ringtone made by Kenma. There were three types: one buzz and a cat’s meow ‘not important/possible funny/a question.’ Two buzzes and a tickle in Tetsurou’s ankles, nothing to wake him up from deep sleep, but enough to notify Kenma wanted to talk.

The three buzzes and the chill that crawled up and down Tetsurou’s vertebrae meant trouble, and Kenma needing his help. Tetsurou leapt up and exits the muted membrane. Too late. 

Only now does he see the folly of this though, the meaningless of having all sorts of powers and no real control over those of others. Fukunaga stands up as well, and they both gaze at the dark clouds brewing over to the side where Tetsurou thinks Yamamoto was headed earlier. He should have known. He should have felt Yamamoto’s frightened state through the haste of his steps, should have heard his frantic heartbeat throughout the ground. 

The ground shakes, a soft tremble where they are, but a mighty impact where it comes from. It’s not meant for Tetsurou to feel, but the agent making it happen has no control over who it reaches. He can also hear it; a specific morse cord not of Kenma’s design.

Next to him, Fukunaga does not blink.

_’He’s whispering my name.’_

 

*

 

*

 

*

Lev has never seen Kai-san shake his head or look slightly worried. It was quite a disconcerting sight. He’s always been the center of calm, the cause for silence, the reason why everyone would shut up when things would get to heated. Lev doesn’t like the worrying brows or the dimmer light in his eyes one bit. Palms up, fingers spread and thumbs curving over the inside of his hand, Kai-san stands before Yamamoto-san.

Whatever skin is left of him.

“Yamamoto, please.” Kai pleads, another thing Lev has never seen him do. In front of them, right beneath the storm cloud, Yamamoto stands stock still. His skin is covered with ink, and only the space at the left side of his chesthas not yet been dotted over. He’s all black from it, while his eyes light up lightning yellow.

Just as the lightning which strikes in front of Taketora-san’s blackened toes.

Kai-san casts a protective shield over them, but the lightning never hits anywhere close to their side. Lev doesn’t know what’s happening. He merely notices a frequency in the lightning strikes that thunder on the same place. It sounds like a message. It’s not meant for either of them though, and Lev doesn’t know what to do. Stepping closer to Kai-san, he hopes to hear one of the silent mantras, and maybe get an indication as to what’s wrong here. Turns out Kai-san knows as little as Lev.

“I don’t know why you’re upset, but please, calm down.” Kai-san asks again, his words interrupted by the lightning strikes.

Lev doesn’t know much about magical or protective tattoos. Admittedly he has no brain-mouth filter, which has proven dangerous in a mix of his natural curiosity, Lev was somewhat smart enough to never poke Yamamoto’s ink. Its origin and meaning was so glaringly obvious that he never bothered; the tiger stripes were always visible curling around Taketora-san’s biceps and thighs. Lev has seen peeks of it situated around the ribcage and hip area, too. There are fainter lashes covering his back. He has hook teeth when he’s angry, and sharp nails when he’s fighting. Lev once asked if he had a tail, and nearly paid with his life. Akane-chan had a tail, after all. He thought it was alright to ask.

Thunder roars above them, a different sound than normal weather would make. Lev looks up, his hair blowing in the strong whirlwind Yamamoto causes. He doesn’t know how he can tell the difference, but this weather sounds sad. It looks angry, but it sounds _hurt_.

“Yamamoto, for the love of god-“ Kuroo-san’s voice speeds past Lev, having no such restraint and carefulness as Kai-san emits.

And then he’s deaf.

Lev panics for about half a second before turning to Kai-san for help, who has his face turned to an approaching Fukunaga-san. Lev doesn’t hear or feel anything. It’s like someone took his body and placed it in cotton, surrounded by water, and placed it all in a container tube made for horror movies. The thunder, the lightning strikes, the imminent catastrophe Yamamoto is responsible for, all noises muted and gone. Fukunaga-san walks between them, and Kuroo-san backs away.

When Fukunaga-san hand touches Taketora-san’s, the ink below ‘ducks’ away, making space for the hand. Kai-san is at Lev’s side, making him step back and give the two space.

The ink is too much. One thing Lev knows, is that magical ink is the same as normal; too much covering the skin will keep the pores from breathing, and can cause severe health issues. Kuroo-san catches him mid-air when Fukunaga-san cannot catch him, and they lay Taketora-san down on the grass. The stormy clouds above them, although Lev cannot hear, seem calmer than before.

When his hearing works again, he hears Kuroo-san speaking.

“Does he need a doctor?” He asks Fukunaga-san, who has both his hands on Taketora-san’s arms. Where he touches him, the spread of the ink disappears, and slowly the pinprick dots go away. Kuroo-san watches the dots disappear, but the process must be too slow as he starts to panic. “Fukunaga, answer me! Is he going to be okay?”

Lev doesn’t know why Kuroo-san expects an answer out of Fukunaga-san. They all know he can’t speak. Then he hears a voice he's never heard before. First, it sounds far away, as if it's surrounded by a barrier. Lev cannot place who it belongs to, and looks around, trying to see if anyone joined them, to come and check the magical power surge Taketora-san sent.

_ ’Hey it’s me. It’s alright. Shhhh.' _

This message is not meant for him. But while it sounds so far away, Lev notices how it tries to reach out, to pierce through a consciousness. The voice sounds desperate and scared. When he hears it again, it's way different: his instinct tells him this message is meant to include him too. It's much louder than the first time, more inside his head than out of it. Lev still can't see any other person who the voice could belong to, until his eyes look at where one of his teammates lies, and the other hovers above him, silent. Lev's jaw drops.

_'I’m silencing his tattoo.  
Taketora. Taketora listen._

_Calming it and trying to reach-  
Take, it’s me. Remember me. Please Take, I’m sorry._

_-his inner conscious.  
I shouldn’t have hidden from you. Please, Take. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplea-‘_

“You’re not meant to hear all that, Haiba.” Kai-san pulls at Lev’s arm, but he barely registers it. Lev blinks out of his focus, at the voice he’s heard for the first time. It’s all around them, tangible and in pain, worried. It feels exactly the same like the thunder, the lightning, and the whirlwind of emotions. Lev decides here and now that whatever ‘it’ is, he never wants to feel anything like it. 

“But it’s-“

“I know who, what and why it is. We’re not meant to be here or witness this. You too, Kuroo.”

“Hey, I found him.” Kuroo-san stands up nonetheless, wiping his knees clean and shows his back to the two people left on the ground. Lev is being pushed from both sides now; Kai-san’s physical appearance in human form, and his presence caught in the five elements, on the other side. It’s a stony hand Lev feels on his shoulder blade, pushed by an airy shoulder.

“Yes yes I’m going!” Lev yelps, not liking Kai-san’s all powerful elemental form right next to him. At least it’s not his panther. Lev didn’t dare peek over his shoulder as Kuroo-san sniggers.

*

 

*

 

*

Shouhei has known silence for all his life. Knowing Taketora changed a lot. For the first time, Shouhei came across what people meant with a ‘comfortable silence’. He was never required to speak to Taketora, but it came naturally to Shouhei to communicate with him in any way he could. The first time he remembers like yesterday.

They had both been first years, not even one month into the school year at Nekoma high school. Shouhei, soundless and ‘weird’, was bullied for not speaking and never reacting. He hadn’t sent out a distress signal, but help came nonetheless. That afternoon, like every other, Yamamoto Taketora talked and talked to him as if he was trying out every word in the dictionary. He wanted names, how often and by who Shouhei was bullied, if anyone knew. Taketora told him to go to the principal, tell his parents. 

All Shouhei did was looking at the bloodied slashes of his attackers, the same blood dripping off Taketora’s sharp fingernails. He was half-man, half-tiger, and more beautiful when his stripes were on full display. He was warmer than anything Shouhei has ever felt, including a summer’s sun during mid-day.

He had been so busy muting the cries of his attackers when Taketora came that he didn’t think about silencing the tiny voice in his chest. Taketora’s reaction had been one of wonder and excitement, and Shouhei’s bullies had been history ever since. 

Responding to Taketora became easy. Understanding the nature and feelings of his tattoo even more so.

Staring down at him now, while the lively tattoo dissipates around the warm yellow eyes and finally uncovers the irises, Shouhei doesn’t know what to say. Then he realises he doesn’t need to say anything. Taketora smiles. His hand, which feels softer than Shouhei’s, covers his. Shouhei touches Taketora’s heart in return, needing to hear the steady heartbeat to calm himself down as well. The chest area below had been the only place Taketora’s tattoo didn’t cover up.

“Tch, who do you take me for? It’s one of the few places I keep uncovered, after all.”

Taketora’s stripes reach over Shouhei’s. They curl around his wrist, spiralling up to his biceps. They whirl around and round in a solid circle, then dot back slowly to Taketora’s hand. When Shouhei dares to look away from such warm eyes, the easy smile, and his the bob of his Adam’s apple, he takes a glance at his arm.

Grinning, he laughs at the small, childish tiger drawing left there. The brows are short and angry-looking, same as the open-snout showing off many teeth.

“Yours to keep. I know you can ‘mute’ it out of existence if you don’t wan’ it...”

Shouhei wouldn’t ever- the thought alone makes him feel as angry as he had been talking to Kuroo earlier. When his head turns to answer, Taketora’s shoulders lift off the grass, his arm pulling in Shouhei’s head, and his warm lips crush against mouth. _’But-‘_ Shouhei’s thoughts start, but are interrupted by Taketora’s; always the loudest ones in his head.

_’There’s no ‘but’s to think about. I made my choice a long time ago and kept waiting for you to catch on. ‘M not gonna back off now that you’re finally having your own crisis over liking your best friend, Shou.’_

Shouhei curls up on top of him, putting his head on Taketora’s chest. When he’d feel less than good, he’d mute all sounds in his surroundings and focus on Taketora’s heart. It had such a steady and upbeat rhythm that it made feel Shouhei better. It should have been a huge indicator of what’s to come, but Shouhei never gave it much thought until now. When his ear lies on across Taketora’s heart, he doesn’t need to use his powers to hear it loud and clear. The tiny heart made of solid gold is more excited than ever, and finally calms down from the rush it went through before.

The instant Shouhei’s head touches Taketora’s skin, there’s arms around him. Strong arms which pack heat, strength and above all, secureness. It’s too comfortable to move away. Ever. Shouhei closes his eyes and breathes, inhaling Taketora’s scent as deep as he can. 

When Shouhei draws a heart on Taketora’s inner arm, the ink flows along his finger, marking the trace of Shouhei’s fingertip of the one solid line he creates. The hand of Taketora’s other arm tightens around his shoulders for a second. Then dusty lips brush over Shouhei’s hair, carrying a smile and flames that won’t burn.

“Heh, mine to keep.”

*

 

*

 

*

The next day, Kenma is too early for morning practice because Tetsurou picked him up as he had a meeting with Kai. The other two early birds (read: love birds) are nesting high atop a tree, hidden behind branches. They think no one would notice them, the curl of fingers interlinking, or the many kisses that occur between the rustling trees. 

Kenma observes the new black marks on both their arms, rolls his eyes, and moves on to find a spot not too far to sit himself and his things down. He goes back in the world inside his game. Transferring small data of his physical body into the character he’s controlling, and have the world around him change and submerge him to the reality inside his console. Tetsurou will let him know when it’s time to start, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Gah. I love them so, okay??? I hope this was an ok-read for torafuku fans ;; I've been thinking about them a lot lately and during the times that I wrote this fic. I wanna go full fantasy au for them one day, and write a more canon-compliant fic as well .v.;;


End file.
